


Pleasures Of Trust

by scalphunter



Series: The Soldier & The Assassin [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Author's Favorite, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smutlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:05:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scalphunter/pseuds/scalphunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the soldier’s back the thick, leather cuffs contrast with his slightly tanned skin. His head is bowed to the floor and there’s the shimmer of sweat at the base of his neck, darkening the blond strands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasures Of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Just a smutty little piece starring our favourite American boy and our competent Russian.

Music: [Playground Love by Air](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cip115EaWLk) & [Eyes On Fire by Blue Foundation](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5JOAe-p9Bo)

 

Steve does look beautiful like this; absolutely beautiful.

Natasha smiles to herself as she watches the super soldier shift, twist and buck against the cuffs that lock his wrists behind his back. They won’t budge, she’s damned sure of that – they’ve been especially designed for Steve (she made certain Stark didn’t ask any questions, but he did smirk and giggle quite a lot) to thrash and struggle without having to worry about him breaking free. She can’t have Steve breaking out, now, can she? That would ruin her fun. She pads carefully in a three-sixty degree circle around him, the carpet is a rich Italian wool-thread and it’s warm. Steve knows she’s there; he’s being quiet. She likes the quiet. Not that Steve is ever very vocal when they are together, however when he’s on the field shouting orders he needs downtime to forget and relax.

At his back the thick, leather cuffs contrast with his slightly tanned skin. His head is bowed to the floor and there’s the shimmer of sweat at the base of his neck, darkening the blond strands.

Natasha continues her circle. Her gaze slides across Steve’s hard thighs, and the material of indigo coloured briefs pulling across and leaving creases, travelling up to a slightly protruding hipbone, across toned abdomen, chest and strong shoulders.

Finally, she looks up at Steve’s face, drinking in the sight. Steve makes a low, growl sound as Natasha crouches: intensified hearing from the serum. Natasha realizes that if she hadn’t covered the soldier’s baby-blue eyes with that strip of black silk, the look in Steve’s eyes (she knows all too well the glitter around the edges of wide dark pupils) would have made her hunger for him. But she did blindfold him and this isn’t about her. Steve can’t see her, can’t make her lose her balance. She stands up once again and steps close to him in sleek confidence.

With a smirk, she cups his jaw, lifting his head up, brushing her thumb across his bottom lip. Steve’s mouth is sinful, a pretty pout, even when he’s angry when the tender flesh bleeds out crimson. Steve pants, wet, his chest heaving, and he moans, a sound that is muffled by the second strip of silk, this time red, that forces his mouth open in a broad slit and buffers the claws of heat in Natasha’s gut. She did not ask him about any of this, she offered ideas in hushed whispers, watching him for a response. Natasha is not so sadistic that she openly enjoys this sort of thing without meaning behind it (and she has killed many men in her lifetime in situations similar) however she drinks in the sight of Captain Steve Rogers on his knees, submitting fully willingly. The nails of her hands pinch into the flesh of his cheek.

Steve is arching his hips up, pleading around the material. Unflappable? Not quite _._ Steve’s head whips around, out of Natasha’s grasp.

‘Bud'te dobry , soldat’ she says sharply. _Be good, soldier._ He makes a sound, a desperate, keening wail. She’s taught him some Russian, and Steve is smart enough to roughly translate a lot of what she says when she speaks in her mother tongue. Those three words are easy; and they do exactly what she wants.

She raises her hand, threading her fingers through Steve’s soft hair and pulling the soldier’s head back, forcing him to strain his neck upwards. It doesn’t hurt him, he has a high pain tolerance, but it causes a pause.

‘Look at you’ she croons, her voice pitches a little lower, adoring the way Steve flinches at the sound. ‘Chistyy, narushayetsya krasota’. _Pure, broken beauty._  

She ducks and nips at his neck, earning another muffled moan. Steve’s arms are pushing inside the cuffs still, bucking for punishment. He wants to touch and he isn’t allowed, she has the power to do as she pleases. Natasha could leave him like this alone and lock his room for a privacy everyone would respect. She doesn’t want to. She smiles warmly at the thought. She lets go of Steve’s hair, instead sliding her hand down soldier’s chest and abs, skimming the tips of her fingers just above the waistband of his underwear. Steve whimpers, seeking more touches, but she pulls away.

‘I’ve thought about this a lot,’ she says – or rather admits – ignoring the fact that her own voice is laced with lust, a syrupy quality to her words. ‘About blinding you and gagging you. I have to say it is a nice sight’.

She drops down, curling around him and pushing at his shoulders. He takes the hint and sits back on his haunches. She straddles the soldier’s thighs easily, the tails of the much-too-big shirt she wore ( _his_ ) caress his skin. She leans, grinding her hips – the groan she earns almost makes her shudder violently – and nuzzles Steve’s neck. ‘Okay?’ she asks, and when he nods nearly imperceptibly, she reaches round to undo the blindfold. The silk slips, the knot untying, and eyes blinking back at her. Deep black eclipses blue and there is something indulgent in them. Natasha licks at the vulnerable open of his mouth, drawing back with a smirk, when he gasps, rocking forward. She loosens the gag enough so she can pull it down, out of his mouth and kisses him, letting her eyes fall shut.

‘Could I have the use of my hands back, please?’ he says against her lips. She hums, pondering it.

‘Depends. How much do you need them?’ she asks, a teasing cadence to her voice, her right hand already snaking around his torso to the dial locks on the cuffs.

 


End file.
